


you've got no planet (on an unknown star)

by Choices_We_Make, questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, BABBE YONDU, Gen, Recovery, Stakar saves a babbe Yondu, War is hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Choices_We_Make/pseuds/Choices_We_Make, https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: When something shifts on the ground, Stakar startles, brings his weapon up, eyes scanning for the source of the possible movement. And then he finds it and his grip tightens unconsciously. It's a tiny, blue crumpled body, out of proportion set against the harsh, suffocating scent of blood, the rough, scarred leather, the other bodies laying around it, and the wrongness of it makes his bones jar.And breathing. Unlike everything else around it, this one's chest is rising, falling, scrawny and alive - if  you could call it that.In which Stakar finds Yondu as a child battle slave.





	1. Chapter 1

He's walking, and it's like a thousand other battlefields on a thousand other planets. Flames, wreckage, and the smell of death clinging to him like the clay on his boots.

Ravagers didn't have many limits, but this utter subsumption to the anarchy of death is one of them and Stakar wishes he'd never gotten involved. It's enough for him to curl his fingers and make a quiet, fierce promise to himself.  After all, these Ravagers, these people, are his. He won’t lead them into this again, fodder for the war machine of careless men. It's time for the Ravagers to become their own.

When something shifts on the ground, Stakar startles, brings his weapon up, eyes scanning for the source of the possible movement. And then he finds it and his grip tightens unconsciously. It's a tiny, blue crumpled body, out of proportion set against the harsh suffocating scent of blood, the rough scarred leather, the other bodies laying around it, and the wrongness of it makes his bones jar. 

And breathing. Unlike everything else around it, this one's chest is rising, falling, scrawny and _alive_ \- ifyou could call it that. 

“What’s this then?" Stakar says softly. His weapon is aimed, primed to go off on a moment.

The rumpled figure rolls over, slowly. 

"Go ‘head,” says a lispy, hoarse little voice, and later Stakar would wonder that such a small sound would have the power to stop him in his tracks. 

This wasn't the voice of a warrior, or even a soldier. This was the voice of a _child,_ and Stakar is sluggish with shock, unable to process for a moment what he's seeing. Because it's one thing to know that child battle slaves are common practice for the Kree, that innocents are often the victims of the merciless stars, and it's another to see one here. 

This is war, this is screams and smog and not being able to breath, this is the kind of heat that has grown men go weak at the knees, and this…this is _not_ the place for eyes like that, big and wide and terrified and young. 

He jolts back in shock, and the boy hunches his shoulders, cringing on the ground, not even bothering to bring his arms up in defense. 

"Yer just a kid,” Stakar says stupidly, still processing it, knowing he's stating the obvious. Those eyes shoot up to meet his, confused, apprehensive, and _glowing_ , Stakar suddenly realizes, glowing a faint red that pulses with his fear. 

His arms shift as the weapon slumps out of position, and the movement spooks him. With a pathetic little cry, the child tries to use his arms to scramble backward, but then seems to stop himself, closes his eyes. 

For a moment, there's just the sound of his heavy, gasping breaths as he tries to regain control, and then a small, panted, "Do it." 

Stakar’s brows draw together as he stares down at the kid, whose eyes meet his, frustrated, angry, appealing. 

“Just do it! _Do it!"_

Stakar can feel his heart twist painfully as he realizes what the boy is asking, and before he can think, he's grasped him by his skinny forearm and jerked him close. 

"I don' _kill kids!"_ he grinds out before letting the boy go and turning away, struggling with the scarred memories in his head, when he realizes what he's done. There is a child on the ground, wounded, scared - and Stakar has just manhandled him.

When he spins back around those eyes are gazing up at him with an utter lostness, and he swallows. 

"Go'awn, kid," he rasps. "You better run. Run the heck outta here, and don' come back."

And then he comes to his senses and realizes the kid's got nowhere to run. This is the end of everything, a forsaken field of death and broken bodies, and suddenly, he doesn't want that tiny thing gone, anyway. 

He wants him right here, where he can scoop him up in his arms and shield him from things he never should have had to see or feel. The kid pulls himself up slowly, climbing from the clay in listless, dragging movement and then stills, lifting his eyes defiantly to meet Stakar’s. 

"'m not going back,” the boy bites out savagely. "So you'd better kill me.”

Yeah, this boy is not going anywhere, and Stakar’s a little surprised by how at peace he is with that.He shakes his head. 

"C'mere, son.” 

He uses his softest voice, one that would probably shock most of the Ravagers if he ever used it around them. For a moment, he thinks the boy will run, will panic, will throw himself away from the imposing figure before him, and without thinking Stakar sinks to one knee and leans forward, as if he could draw him to himself with pure power of will. 

The child hesitates, shoulders tight and braced, eyes flickering with doubt and tears. And then Stakar blinks and a trembling body is hurled into his, tiny arms wrapped around him, a chest heaving with sobs, a forehead pressed desperately into his shoulder. 

Instinctively, his arms wrap back, andStakar settles into how incredibly right it feels, to be hugging this tiny, foreign thing. He feels a wet, sticky, warm substance against his skin, and realizes in horror that it's the child's blood. 

It's not too much trouble to reach his arm around the boy's body and pick him up as Stakar rises into a stand, cradling him in his arms like a baby, and it hasn't escaped his notice that the slight body is still trembling against his. 

"Howd'yeh like ta come home with me?" Stakar says. 

Eyes rise to meet his, and he realizes that for all the fierceness of those little hands as they clutch on to him, the boy’s still leery. 

"Where?" he mumbles. "Who _are_ you?" 

Stakar's arms just tighten around him. 

"We're the Ravagers,” he says, and it's pride, and it's a promise, and the boy relaxes and leans into the arms that are shielding him as Stakar strides away from the battlefield and back toward his ship. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Welcome back, cap’n,” Martinex says, smoothly swinging himself up from the command chair as Stakar strides onto the bridge. “Let’s leave this stars-forsaken hellhole in the dust.”

“Welcome back, cap’n,” Martinex says, smoothly swinging himself up from the command chair as Stakar strides onto the bridge. “Let’s leave this stars-forsaken hellhole in the dust.”

Stakar collapses into the seat, relaxing into the well-worn grooves in the cushion and leaning wearily on one elbow. Tonight, all he cares about is getting as far away as he can from here - tomorrow, he’ll deal with the fallout. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Martinex giving instructions to the navs, and as much as he doesn’t want to, he should probably inform him about their little blue tagalong before he finds out himself. 

It’s the last thing his wrung-out brain wants to do though. He can’t shake the image in his head of a tiny blue battered body dwarfed by the med bay bed, laying there all limp, having finally dropped into unconsciousness halfway back to the ship. The medic on duty had assured him there was nothing life threatening, only a head injury that would need to be carefully watched along with stitches and bandages for the cuts and bruises sprinkled across his body. 

There’s nothing for it though. A child battle slave on board is something his first mate needs to know about, especially since Stakar’s getting ready to go off shift. 

“Marty, c’mere a sec,” he says gruffly, creaking slowly upright in the chair. Martinex gives a last instruction to the barely awake nav and ambles towards him. 

“ ‘Sup, boss?” he says, leaning one arm on the back.

“I… found something, planet-side,” he starts haltingly. He doesn’t regret saving the kid for a second, but out of the wasteland he’s starting to wonder if his instinct to keep the kid is the right one. He pauses, Martinex waiting patiently for him to find the words.

“There was a kid down there, a stars-damned little _kid_ the Kree had for a battle slave,” he says, scrubbing a hand across his face. “He was half-dead and figuring I’d get him the rest of the way, an’ I couldn’t just leave him there.” 

The slight widening of his eyes is the only thing giving away Martinex’s surprise. Now he’s started, Stakar can’t seem to stop and he digs the palms of both hands hard into his eye sockets. 

“He fuckin’ begged me, Marty, begged me to just kill him, what kinda kid does that? Just sat there, staring back at me, and when I told him I’d take him home he grabbed on an’ didn’t let go, even though he doesn’t know me from nothin’.”

It’s been longer than he can count since he lost his own little ones, but the tattered images of their still bodies is still as fresh as blood in his mind. He keeps seeing their faces with the same hollow look as that scrap of a boy in his med bay, and the exhaustion won’t let him focus enough to will it away. 

“Cap’n,” Martinex says softly resting a gently glittering hand alongside Stakar’s arm. He’s been first mate since Stakar started the Ravagers, and he’s one of the few aboard who knows Stakar’s past, who knows how hard this must be hitting him. 

He gives himself a shake and looks up.

“I told him I’d keep him safe, Marty,” he says. “Normal people aren’t gonna know what ta do with a kid like him, we could…” 

Martinex quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Cap’n… we’re a rough bunch here, the ship ain’t exactly set up for some kid runnin’ around, you know that,” he says.

He’s only saying what Stakar’s already been thinking, but somehow hearing it out loud hits harder. 

“I’ve had kids before, I c’n take care of him,” Stakar protests without much heat.

“And still work taking care of everything like you do? Look boss, you’re hard-pressed enough already, an’ you want to add some kind of parenting to that?” 

Martinex leans a little closer, shielding them from the rest of the crew. It wouldn’t look good for the bridge to see them arguing, but Stakar just doesn’t have the will to get up and take this elsewhere. 

“It won’t be too much trouble,” he tries. “There’s crew can help and he don’t seem like the kind’ll need someone always holding his hand, ’n all.” 

He can see the understanding shining in Martinex’s eyes, but his first mate shakes his head and holds firm. 

“Even if the crew didn’t mind, a kid needs a normal home, someplace where he can learn to be a kid, where he isn’t put in danger all the time.”

Stakar swallows, looks away, but Martinex doesn’t let up.

“You know what kinda jobs we do, what kinda trouble follows us around, boss,” he says gently. “A Ravager ship ain’t a safe place for a little kid and you can’t be everywhere at once, something’s gonna happen… ‘sides if he’s been with the Kree the last thing he needs is to be rattling around with a bunch of foul-mouthed, foolhardy space thieves like us, someone’s prolly gonna get him hurt without even meanin’ to.”

Stakar doesn’t want him to be right, but he gets it. Sometimes what you want to do isn’t what you need to do, and maybe this is one of those times, no matter what his heart is telling him. In any case, it’s time to turn things back over to Martinex, before the scratch-wool heaviness of exhaustion fogging his thoughts pulls his eyes inexorably closed.

“Fine, you’re right” he says, pushing himself creakily to his feet. “We’ll drop the kid off on a Xandarian-controlled planet, there’s probably an kid’s home or something we can find but it’d better be a good one cos I’m not handing him over ta just anyone. He’ll be… happy there.” 

He tries hard to make himself believe those words, as he thumbs the door switch open.

“I’ve got the bridge, cap’n,” Martinex says, throwing him a salute as Stakar waves tiredly at him and shuffles towards his quarters. 

There’s still something nagging in his gut, something telling him that offloading the kid isn’t the right thing to do, but he ignores it. He’s no shining paragon of fatherhood, the kid’ll be better off recovering in some nice normal Xandarian family that can give him all the time and attention he needs. 

Waving open the biolock, Stakar shrugs off his jacket before collapsing face first on the bed. He curls on his side, and doesn’t think about how the kid would look wrapped in blue-black Ravager leathers, healthy and filled out. He doesn’t think about wrapping his large hands around smaller ones and showing them how to work the yoke of an M-ship, and he definitely doesn’t think about the feel of scrawny little arms, locked in a death grip around his neck as a small face burrows trustingly into his neck. He lets his eyes close, and doesn’t think.


	3. Chapter 3

Stakar’s pulled roughly from a dead sleep by the sound of frantic knocking on his door. He can hear the muffled, “Cap’n!” between jittery knocks and resists the urge to pull his pillow over his head. 

A bleary-eyed glare at his wrist-holo tells him he’s only been asleep for five hours, which explains the hammer pounding on the back of his skull. A captain’s never really off though, so he hauls himself up and pushes himself off the bed and into his boots, grabbing his jacket off the hook as he waves the biolock open. 

“Cap’n, cap’n – “ the skinny junior crewman outside his door is nearly dancing foot to foot, white dreadlocks quivering as he cuts himself off in the face of Stakar’s furrowed brow. 

Taking a deep breath and making a clear effort to still himself, he pulls every gangly inch of himself up smartly to announce, “Cap’n, Gunner Tullk reporting, doc’s sent me ‘cos the kid yeh brought on board ran off after 'e stabbed someone.” 

Stakar grips the door frame with one hand. He can feel the blood drain from his face and makes a concentrated effort to stop it, everything between his ears going fuzzy, and then blank. Tullk widens his eyes with every second Stakar fails to answer, so Stakar heaves in a breath and manages, “..the kid did _what_ now?”

“He stabbed one ‘o the medics, sir.” Tullk says, “An’ the kid’s gone an’ doc said to let yeh know.”

Stakar flicks a hand at the crewman to dismiss him, much too aware of rapid kick of his heartbeat, the way he can feel his solar wings start to change. He doesn't speak until he is sure his voice is going to come out steady.  

“Go’awn, tell Doc I’ll be by in second.” 

Tullk nods frantically and practically vibrates himself back down the corridor. Flark, he looks like he can’t be more than 16 or 17, how young is the bosun recruiting them these days? 

His mind is taking turns being wandering and numb but he tries to rein it back together as he buckles up his jacket, and then slides his weapons into the appropriate places, letting the easy instinct of the movements anchor him. 

 He pauses, and then slides a few sweets into his pocket as well. It can’t hurt, after all, to have a bribe. He straightens his shoulders like he's going into battle, and smiles a little wryly at the thought. He's going to deal with his crews quickly and efficiently as possible, and then…then he's going to find his kid.

Striding into the med bay, he’s almost immediately accosted by his most recent doctor, a sour-faced Krylorian who’s clearly not taking the adjustment to criminal life well. One of the nurses is behind him, patiently holding on to all the calm the doctor isn’t. 

“Captain Stakar,” the doctor enunciates, each word sounding like he’s jabbing them out on a datapad. “The… patient you brought aboard is clearly hostile, he has stabbed my staff and made off with a scalpel, I _demand_ you do something about –“

“Oh, you demand?” Stakar says mildly, letting his eyes start to flare white with annoyance. He doesn't want to _be_ here, when that child is out there somewhere.

 The doctor blanches, and nearly trips himself with how fast he backpedals.

“I-I mean, what I meant to say was, that there is a _clear danger_ to me and something must be done about it, quickly,” he blusters. The nurse's face twitches like she's keeping a straight face only through sheer professional strength of will, and Stakar makes another split-second decision. 

“Doctor, you’re temporarily relieved of duty, Nurse…?” 

“Brona, sir,” she says cheerfully. 

“Fine, Nurse Brona will be taking over while you recuperate from the terrible strain this situation has clearly caused you.” Stakar gives the doctor grin with just a hint of tooth, and a last warning flare of his eyes before he turns to the nurse.

"How's the medic?"

"Got a nasty slice, sir, but he'll be okay."

"Right." Stakar runs a hand through his hair, still oily and thick with battlefield sweat, and grimaces. "What, exactly, happened?"

He's heard the basics, but he wants to be armed with a little more knowledge going in, and also...

Stakar realized with a jolt of his thoughts that he's mentally trying to find facts to defend the kid. With his background, after all, is it so surprising he would lash out?  

The nurse hesitates.

"I wasn't here when it happened, sir, but I do know the boy was startled by the medic. Pulled a scalpel I can only think he took from somewhere here, and flew at the man, then ran out."

Stakar nods, drawing himself up. “Do you know which way the kid went?”

“Down the passageway to the left, probably looking for some nook to tuck himself away in, poor thing was scared outta his mind,” she says, waiting a second to make sure there isn’t any more questions before bustling over to the white-faced stab victim clutching a handful of gauze to his shoulder. 

Stakar makes a mental note to actually check on the medic later, before he’s off down the corridor, keeping his eyes peeled for any hint of blue skin or glowing red. 

Half an hour later, Stakar has searched every nook, and nearly every cranny, and nothing's turned up. Spaceship hide-and-seek is not exactly what he signed up for when he brought the kid back, but he shoves the mental groans aside with a scolding, sick again at the thought of the tiny boy huddled in a dark corner somewhere, alone. 

His eyes catch on the vent cover as he scrutinizes the area. It's sitting a bit askew, a fine coating of dust on the ground beneath it, and his shoulders relax a little. Well.

He crouches down, as quietly as the rustle and creak of his leathers will let him, and says softly, “Heya kiddo.” 

There’s a pause, then a frantic shuffle and Stakar can just make out the flash of faint red and narrowed, anxious eyes through the slats. 

“I’m gonna take the cover off, okay?” he says, ducking to avoid it as he swings it open. He stays crouched outside the opening, though, letting the kid know he's not coming any closer until he has permission. He can see clearer now to the body inside, crouched unnaturally still with the scalpel in a death grip in one tiny, blue hand. 

Stakar lets his breath out. How _does_ he get into these situations? But then his attention is back on the boy, where it belongs. There's no question, after all, of who is more traumatized by this event. Even from here, he can hear the tattered breathing, and while the boy doesn't scramble away from him, he also doesn't _move._

"Was he…one of yours?" The boy rasps out, like he's just now realizing he might be in trouble from the one person who might be in a position to help him. The boy swallows harshly, eyes flickering up to Stakar's briefly before returning solidly to the ground. Stakar reads between the lines of the stuttered question. _Was that one of the ones I shouldn't stab?_

"Yeah, he was." Stakar admits, and the little chest heaves and speeds and the boy's muttering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry, you c'n punish me, don' send me back, please–"

"Hey, it's okay. Medic's gonna be fine." Stakar soothes softly. "I'm not upset, and even if I was, I ain't gonna hurt'cha, alright? I wouldn't give ya back, I don't trade in kids any more than I kill 'em."

He waits until that seems to sink in and the child stops hyperventilating a little. He still won't look Stakar in the eye, but he doesn't have such a death grip on the blade any more, and Stakar cautiously offers an extended palm.

"Can you give me the knife?” he asks. He knows the kid must have been a battle slave for years to have been out there like that alone, but he still can’t quite get over the way he's holding the weapon like it’s a natural extension of his body, the way no kid that young should know how to hold a knife. 

The boy waits a beat, then reluctantly shuffles forward a little closer to the opening and drops the knife stiffly into Stakar’s open hand. Tucking it away, he reaches slowly for the kid’s arms and pulls him forward, kneeling down once he has him in his arms again and sliding to sit back against the wall. 

He’s light, too light and a few of his bandages have dark spots of blood where the movement’s caused them to soak through. Stakar can feel the fine shivers running through the kid’s body though, so he holds him, carefully, firm but not tight, and after a moment starts a slow soothing rub where the kid’s neck joins the implant, one of the few parts of him that doesn’t have some sort of bruise or cut. 

The kid all but melts into him, finally closing his eyes, exhaling in a quavery, soundless little breath. 

"I didn't know," the boy lets out a choked sob, and Stakar could curse himself for not thinking of this when he dropped the boy in the hands of the med crew, that the boy would wake up terrified not knowing where he was, where Stakar was, with no one familiar in sight, and a good deal of other _un_ familiar people and things...

“That’s it, I got’cha son,” Stakar says quietly. Looking at the kid like this, it’s almost hard to believe he had enough wit about him to sneak a scalpel and then stab an adult with it, but a hidden part of him is rather proud at the stones this kid’s clearly got on him. 

It’s enough though to jumpstart that insidious little voice in his chest he’s been trying to ignore, the though of what’s going to happen if he stabs the adults, or stars forbid the other younglings, at the orphanage he’s dropped at. How the fuck are they going to handle a kid like him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are still love! Bring 'em on!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stakar is skulking outside the med bay, knowing he shouldn't go in.
> 
> He's already checked on the boy today, he really doesn’t need to but… the kid might need him. _He’s still unstable, I’m the only one he trusts_ , Stakar argues with the voice in his head that sounds, he thinks grumpily, rather like Martinex.
> 
> But then his fingers curl. The boy can't need him, because today is the day he's leaving.

Stakar is skulking outside the med bay, knowing he shouldn't go in. 

He's already checked on the boy today, he really doesn’t need to but… the kid might need him. _He’s still unstable, I’m the only one he trusts,_ Stakar argues with the voice in his head that sounds, he thinks grumpily, rather like Martinex. 

But then his fingers curl. The boy can't need him, because today is the day he's leaving. 

The kid's been resting into a med bay bed for just over three cycles, while the ship nosed its way to Hrennen and under the practiced care of Nurse Brona and the med team his bruises and cuts have nearly vanished. Stakar’s kept the boy’s interactions with the crew to a minimum, but they've had no more incidents since that first night. 

He thinks of carrying the boy in his arms - again - back to the med bay, remembers pulling the crisp white sheep right up to the blue chin, and falling asleep in a chair tucked to the side of the stretcher. Remembers the next morning, introducing the med crew, explaining the steps of what they were doing, and realizing with a slow, sinking sensation in the face of the boy's incomprehension that the kid's never had someone do more than give him anti-infection pills to choke down when it came to tending wounds. It’s no wonder he was scared by the medical instruments when he first woke. 

A search of the medical database had helped them at least discover what species he was - made harder by the fact the kid’s missing his crest, a red flowing fin native Centaurians had that should start where his implant did instead and flow down his back. It makes Stakar a little sick to think of what had happened to change that. 

He’d tried again to talk Marty round when he’d debriefed him on the whole debacle, tried convincing him the kid didn’t need normal when he didn’t even know what normal was. The arguments had lost steam though in the face of his unrelenting first mate and - it may be making him feel like shit right now, but his first mate is right. He needs to do what's best for the kid, which is why he's sulking outside the doorway right now. It's not fair to let the kid get too attached to him. 

Once he's at the orphanage, he'll find some nice parents, he'll adjust, he's still young - he might forget about the captain who rescued him, but he’ll be able to move on. And the less Stakar struggles against that, the easier it will be. 

He leans against that cool wall for a long time though, jaw heavy, staring into nothing, wondering why the arguments have such an empty, bitter ring.

 

They have that same ring as he sits down heavily inside the boy's room in the med bay that night to try to explain, and "it's for yer own good" had never sounded so wrong. 

The boy's face stays blank but his eyes are flashing with a choked, betrayed fury, and his little fists are clenching open and closed, as if searching for something to hurl or stab, and Stakar thinks maybe he should feel afraid, but he doesn't. 

Then the kid's face closes off and he rolls his neck away to stare at the opposite wall, and Stakar feels the urge for his own fists to clench with the helplessness he's feeling. 

"You'll love Xandar," Stakar tries. 

"Don't-" the boy huffs out a silent snort "I don' care if you wanna get rid of me, but ya don't haveta bother with throwing all this ‘I'm doing what's best' at me.” 

"I don't wanna get rid a' you-" Stakar protests but the boy’s still curling away from him, muttering. 

“Don’ matter at all, ya never promised me nothin', don' owe me anything, nobody…nobody…" 

The boy bites down viciously on his lip with a jagged metal capped tooth, just rocks himself a little, and his eyes are brittle when he looks up again. 

“Yessir, I understand." 

Blinking rapidly and stiff as a doll the boy sits there, staring, and he doesn’t say a word to anyone after that. 

 

 

He’d known it would be hard enough to get through this without an audience, so Stakar had headed planet-side alone. Walking through the white spindly orphanage doors, he feels strange, rough and completely out of place.

The matronly Krylorian at the desk glances at the kid before looking Stakar up and down, and then purses her lips. Staring just enough to the side that she doesn’t meet his eyes, she flashes a perfectly practiced plastic smile at him. 

“Welcome to the Hrennen Home for Youth, thank you visiting us today,” she says in a tone so saccharine it makes Stakar want to give her lip on principle. 

Instead, he lets out a ambivalent grunt. She waits a beat for him to say something more, but he only lifts an judgmental eyebrow. He’s strangely reluctant to talk, as if somehow not engaging will postpone the inevitable. 

“Before you meet any of the children of course you have to go through a background check, and since you don’t look like…. a local, shall we say, I should warn you off-planet adoptions usually take some time-"

Out of the corner of his eye Stakar sees the kid shift toward him as if he's going to cling to Stakar's side, but the boy stops himself, looks away with a sulky glare and hutches up his shoulders defensively. It makes a painful little shiver go through Stakar’s heart. 

"I'm not here to adopt,” he says roughly, and gestures at the child. 

The woman stares uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then Stakar can see her plastered-on smile start to melt. 

"Oh, you mean,” her eyes dart back and forth between them, “he’s not..yours?"

_He can't be. He can't be mine._

"It's complicated," Stakar growls. "I need somewhere safe for him." 

"Ah." 

All business now, she gives him a short, understanding nod. 

“Well, for that I'll just need you to fill out this information-“ she shoves a data padinto his hands, and points him towards a set of chairs that are shiningly pristine for being in a children’s home. “-you can sit there.”

Stakar reaches over and gently tugs the boy to him as he stalks towards the seating. Perching himself on the edge he groans, thumbing through the questions in disgust. He wonders childishly if he can get away with grumbling "do I have to?" and then whining for Marty, but forces himself to focus. 

"Okay, okay, okay,” he mumbles. "I can do this."

Pulling the data pen out of its slot on the top, clutched awkwardly in some way he's sure would be uncomfortable for long periods of time, he takes a breath and approaches the first question. 

People do this all the time, it couldn't possibly be that har– oh. Flark, how had he not even realized… he reaches up and scratches the back of his neck, shifting in his ridiculous little seat. 

"Hey, kid."

A blank face turns toward him. Stakar sighs, then leans over. 

"What's your name?"

The boy jolts out of whatever trance he’d been in, and it must have been deep because for a minute, he's scared and young and unsure again.

"I…"

Suddenly, his breathing has hitched and sped, that strange chunk of metal in his head lighting up and Stakar leans in over him, alarmed. 

"Hey! Hey, calm down, kid, it's okay, it's alright, that's it, focus..."

One hand rests steady on the boy’s shoulder, the other carefully cupping the kid’s cheek, turning his head until those eyes meet his. 

"Look at me. I'm right here. It's okay,"

Stakar feels a tug on his jacket and his head jerks around. 

"Mister! What's wrong with your kid?" demands a bright-eyed little girl with pigtails. She's still tugging even as she talks, and Stakar tries to reign in his annoyance.

"Hey, what's wrong with him! Mister!" 

"It's okay," he assures her distractedly, trying again to catch the boy’s eyes, "he just-"

Before he can stop her, she reaches out a little hand and has clapped the boy on the arms a few times. The boy reacts immediately, curling backwards protectively.

"Don't touch me!" he snarls in a furious little voice, and there's so much malice in it that even Stakar sits back a little, stunned. The girl lets out a screech of dismay, and skitters away back to the group of wide-eyed children in the corner. 

Stakar ignores her and reaches out to the boy again, slowly, gently. 

"Yer alright," he says cautiously, and the boy blinks at him, the lines in his implant still pulsing red.

"Yessir," he says hoarsely, then turns away from Stakar, hutching back into the chair. 

“You don’t hafta…” Stakar hesitates. Is this what threw him into his little fit last time? “Is there something I can call ya?”

Swallowing, the boy swivels his head back around, and his voice is hollow when he speaks. 

"I'm not– I don’t – they used to call me.…”

"Yeah?" Stakar prompts gently. "What did they call you?"

The boy draws his lips back, baring his teeth. Then his face drops and he says, voice dead,“nine, two, two, nine, four, eight, seven.”

Stakar lets his eyes close, afraid it's going to reveal the emotions that are shuddering through him. Hard fury and snapping anger, flushing horror and the ever-growing protectiveness over the little thing next to him. 

“Well then, we’ll just have to give you a new name,” he whispers, and the boy looks up, nods his head hesitantly.

"Right. Well,” Stakar leans back, thinking. 

He’s been around long enough that he’s picked up enough to get along with in most of the major languages spoken by space-going folks, but Centaurians as a species had stayed planet-bound, tied to the natural world around them. Even if he did know a word or two, most likely he couldn’t speak it much anyways since from what little he remembered it was a lot of clicks and whistles that his vocal chords couldn’t do so well. 

Although wait… he did remember this grizzled blue spacer from eons ago, with red crest flowing all down his back, how they’d shared a drink and laughed at the ways the stars spun around them. What had he said his word for stars was…? Right, yondu, he thinks. Yondu. Stars. That’s a good name for a kid who was spirited away into them. 

“What’d’ya think about Yondu, son? Means stars, in Centaurian.”

The kid tilts his head in confusion, then looks down, silently mouthing ‘yondu' to himself. Belatedly, Stakar thinks the kid probably doesn’t know what Centaurian is, doesn’t know that’s where he comes from, but then the boy’s looking up at, something intractable in his eyes. 

“M’Yondu,” he says, like he's tasting something new and vaguely startling. “My name’s Yondu.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a plethora of moments in Stakar's long life that are freeze-framed in his head - the day he met Aleta, laughing with blood on her teeth, the first time he flew racing into the skies, seeing his children's bodies broken like glass dolls on the ground.
> 
> This moment will be one of those. Seeing that fierce satisfaction tugging at the boy's lips, arms hugged around him like he's cradling his new name to him, the kid - no, Yondu and then watching him look at Stakar like he was daring the world to try and chain him down again… something snaps into place hard, pieces locking together in his mind, and that's it. This kid ain't going nowhere.

There are a plethora of moments in Stakar's long life that are freeze-framed in his head - the day he met Aleta, laughing with blood on her teeth, the first time he flew racing into the skies, seeing his children's bodies broken like glass dolls on the ground. 

This moment will be one of those. Seeing that fierce satisfaction tugging at the boy's lips, arms hugged around him like he's cradling his new name to him, the kid - no, _Yondu_ and then watching him look at Stakar like he was daring the world to try and chain him down again… something snaps into place hard, pieces locking together in his mind, and that's it. This kid ain't going _nowhere_. 

He pushes abruptly to a stand, the data pad thudding forgotten to the ground, and cups a hand around Yondu's shoulder to pull him to his feet. It doesn't matter that the matron has her perfect features pulled down in disapproval, lips pursed in a frown. It doesn't matter the the other kids are scattering to the corners pointing fingers as he pulls Yondu forward.  The only thing that matters is that spark in the boy's eyes and the shadow in them that is afraid to hope but is starting to anyways. What matters is that Stakar doesn't belong in this superficial, white-washed building with it's patronizing matron and it's bratty, average kids, and neither does Yondu. 

With one hand tugging Yondu out after him, he strides through the doorway, leading them to the shuttle – leading them to the stars.

 

As they settle into the leather seats, Yondu's giving him a puzzled look, half-opening his mouth to say something before snapping it shut. Stakar smiles broadly at him, feeling a giddy liberty as the all the tension from his former decision just leaks right out of him. 

"Fasten yer seatbelt, kiddo, we're gonna take the scenic way back."

Yondu tilts his head, eyebrows pulled together in a hesitant scowl as he finally gets the words he's been waiting to say out. 

"That was…the kids place, ya didn't leave me there," he shifts a little in the seat, antsy, before forcing himself to still. 

"Nope," Stakar says cheerfully, and then he gets right down to the boy's eye level and looks straight into him. "Lemme tell ya something important about being a captain, son. Sometimes it's important ta listen t'those under you, go by the book. But sometimes you gotta trust yer gut, trust that feeling ya get about whether something's right or wrong."

Yondu looks rather like he's broken his translator implant and all that's coming through is gibberish. 

"A feeling?"

Stakar grins. "Ya know, sometimes a feeling 's all a captain has t'go on."

He winks at Yondu, reaches over to buckle the forgotten seatbelt into place, and accelerates them into the sky. 

 

Stakar thinks of comming Martinex, but then he has a better idea. 

"Hey, Yondu, smile!" 

Yondu glances over uncertainly, but then he looks out at the stars, and with a breath, he flashes Stakar an astonishingly animated smile, sudden and childish and hopeful, innocent and alive with delight, and Stakar thinks he's never more looked his age. He shakes himself, and before it the moment passes, he lets Yondu's excitement ignite his own, and lifting the holopad high snaps the picture. 

He knows exactly who to send it off to, and while he also knows that he's only inviting trouble, a small mischievous part of him can't resist. It starts a mental countdown though in the back of his mind, since he can't imagine it will take Aleta more than a couple cycles to have her here investigating for herself after she gets that. 

 

Yondu's jittery still as they walk off the M-ship, but he looks exhausted, and Stakar abruptly remembers that the kid's probably still healing a little. He hadn't had any quarters assigned since Yondu had here under the care of the med bay staff, and after puzzling about it for a second Stakar decides that he'll bed the boy down in his quarters tonight and find him a place of his own tomorrow. They're both beyond words, just at the low of an adrenaline high, and it's been a crazy ride of a day. 

Stakar shoots a quick comm message to let Marty know he's safely back - he puts off telling him that a tiny blue kid with a new name is also safely back beside him where he belongs. The thought of collapsing into sprawling, cushiony bed has him heading straight toward his quarters, and he decides everything else on his table is now a problem for morning.

He makes a nest in the corner for Yondu out of the hoarbeast fur he'd somehow acquired. After piling it up with his softest blankets and a few pillows, he rummages around for an oversized shirt he can give Yondu to sleep in, and the boy slips it on and gratefully cuddles into his little burrow with a soundless sigh. If the events of the day are racing through his head as much as they are through Stakar's though, he knows it will be a while before the boy actually drifts off to sleep. 

As captain he's gothis own washroom thankfully, so he's able to go through his evening routine by rote, steady and soothingly habitual, without running into any nosy crew members. He's almost done, cleaning and sharpening the little knives he keeps stashed on his person, when his mind registers a sound, barely audible, almost like a hiccup. It jerks him right out of his thoughts and he looks quickly over at Yondu. The kid has nestled until he's almost completely covered under the blankets, just a pile of fuzz, which is twitching a little as the kid seems to be stifling tiny sobs. 

Stakar's not really surprised. It's almost a shock it didn't happen before now, because no matter what the kid's feeling now, he's gotta need some sort of catharsis after everything he's gone through and the abrupt changes of the last few days. 

His first instinct is to go over and comfort the kid, wrap him up and let him know that he's not alone but underneath he knows that some things just need time alone to process, and Stakar doesn't want to bring the interactions of this un-defined relationship of theirs in on top of it to complicate things. 

He feels strangely untroubled, tranquil almost, as he keeps on polishing, starting up a soothing hum under his breath of some half-forgotten lullaby. He sings bits of the words under his breath when he remembers them, making them up when he doesn't. It's late when the boy's muffled tears finally even out into the hushed sounds of sleep and with contentedness swirling low and warm in his chest, Stakar lets himself flop into bed and drops off to the sound of the boy's steady breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i shamelessly stole and worked in a quote from Star Trek, which has a deep rooted forever love in my heart.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stakar wakes up to the feeling of being watched. He snaps his eyes open, tries to fight through the morning fog to figure out who could be in his quarters. It takes a minute, a minute before everything rushes back, and then he's blinking, blood speeding through him. 
> 
> He's got–
> 
> Stakar swallows. He’s got the kid in his room. Yondu's here.

Stakar wakes up to the feeling of being watched. He snaps his eyes open, tries to fight through the morning fog to figure out who could be in his quarters. It takes a minute, a minute before everything rushes back, and then he's blinking, blood speeding through him. 

He's got–

Stakar swallows. He’s got the kid in his room. Yondu's here. Stakar pushes himself up, kicking the blanket off as he squints at the pile of blankets in the corner to see if Yondu’s awake. There's a startled rustle, and then two bright eyes are following him, wide and vulnerable in a way that makes Stakar want to pat him reassuringly. Yondu stands up, still wrapped in a ridiculous coarse fur blanket, bits of the too-big shirt Stakar found for him last night peeking out, and eyes him. There's tense lines all around his face that make Stakar wonder just how much the boy actually slept. 

"Mornin', Yondu," Stakar let his legs flop off the side of the bed, sitting up as hestretches the kinks out of his shoulders. 

"Sir," Yondu dips his head a little, almost in a bow, and Stakar's eyes darken at the subservience of the gesture. 

"You don't have to–“ Stakar starts roughly, and then stops, because Yondu's stiffened as if he's bracing for a violent reprimand. 

Stakar's jaw snaps closed. 

"'Good morning' is fine, Yondu,” he says lightly. 

Yondu peers at him solemnly. 

"Good morning," he repeats, voice a little firmer than before,”sir."

"Right," Stakar sighs. "Shall we?"

He motions towards the washroom. Waving the door open, he pushes the water tap on and starts splashing cold water on his face before he realizes there's no tiny, silent presence at his side. Wiping his eyes, he glances up. Yondu's standing unsurely a few steps from the doorway. 

"Coming in?" Stakar says, bemused. 

Yondu hesitates, then creeps over to stand next to Stakar - pressed up almost into Stakar's side, actually, which makes it a little difficult to maneuver his arms out as he reaches for a washcloth to dry his face. When he's done, he moves over so Yondu's got room at the sink, but the boy just stares at him with fascinated eyes as he brushes his teeth. Stakar glances at himself in the mirror. No, nothing on his face, nothing different. Same old skin he's always been in, so he's not sure what Yondu's staring about. 

He fights off the morning voice in the back off his head that's all grumbly and nods to the boy with raised eyebrows toward the sink, finally prompts Yondu to turn toward it, hesitantly reaching a hand out for the water to come on. He washes his face with a coarse, brutal efficiency, the movements like he’s scrubbing off something caked on hard, and it makes Stakar swallow a little. 

“Whoa–" he reaches out, ”Gently. Like this."

He takes the cloth and runs it almost tenderly over the tiny features, the high gaunt cheekbones. 

"There. See?"

Yondu nods, avoids his gaze. Stakar frowns. Well, he hadn't expected everything to be sweet cakes and honeybrew, but considering Yondu's excitement yesterday, he had been expecting a little more… something. Kid was probably still trying to process all the changes, it had been rather a whirlwind.

Morning ablutions complete though, it’s time to move on.

“Well," Stakar looks Yondu up and down. "We can't let you go wandering around the ship in that."

Yondu’s face wrinkles up at him and white-knuckles handfuls of the shirt, as if Stakar's going to rip it right off. 

Right. Gentle, Stakar reminds himself.

"C'mon, I'll find something until Marty c’n get you a uniform."

Yondu brow creases. "More clothes? Like yours?" 

Stakar's lips curl into a grin. "Sure, kid. Jus' like mine."

"But can I–“ Yondu hesitates, his hands playing nervously with the edges of the shirt. "Can I keep this one, too?"

“'Course," Stakar says firmly, not letting himself think about why Yondu would want to hold on to an old oversized shirt. "Now, c'mon." 

He finds clothes that will do, small enough they won't fall down around Yondu, although they still have to be rolled up and belted so much it makes Stakar's lips crinkle a little in amusement. 

"Not bad for now," he says approvingly, and Yondu lets out a shy beam before wiping it quickly away. Stakar wishes he wouldn't do that, but he's sure when Yondu feels it's safe enough, he'll let himself show more. Let himself be happy for more than a few seconds before he starts to doubt. 

Next stop is the mess hall, to get some food in their bellies. The moment they're around other people, Stakar can see a shift in the way Yondu holds himself, curling in tighter, not picking his gaze up off the ground. 

Stakar gets a few raised eyebrows, but no one questions him, and he sets a protective hand on Yondu's shoulder and shakes his head as he warns people off from approaching them. Sitting them down at the officer’s table, since that alone limits the number of people that have a reasonable excuse to approach them. He’s successful with it too, right up until the moment that Marty steps in the door and makes a scolding beeline toward him.

"There y'are, captain! I've been-" Marty stops. He looks at Stakar, then Yondu, his eyes narrowing. 

"Oh. I thought–“ he stops again, and Stakar would almost feel smug that he's left Marty at a loss for words, if he weren't so worried Marty was going to say something in front of Yondu that…well, that Yondu wouldn't react well to. 

“Captain," Marty crosses his arms. “Please explain?" 

"Sure. Yeah. I will," Stakar says, awkwardly. “Just– not now. Let a man finish his food, for flark's sake." 

Stakar's sending all kinds of daggered, meaningful blasts at Marty with his eyes, and Marty catches them. They haven't been captain and first mate this long and not been able to read each other. 

Marty sighs. "Yessir." 

He shoots Stakar a glance that promises they will be discussing this later, but Stakar's not too worried. He'll explain, he really will, but he's set his course – and once Marty’s had a chance to get to know the kid, Stakar’s sure he’ll be firmly on board.

Marty's plopped down beside them studying Yondu, and Yondu's gripping his spoon so hard the thing's practically bending, and although his head’s ducked low he’s practically glowering at Marty. Stakar tries to think if they've met before, but he doesn't thinks so – Marty's just seen him in passing. 

"Yondu," Stakar says, setting a calm hand against the boy's hackled side. "This is my first mate, Martinex. Marty, Yondu."

"Yondu, huh?" Marty says, flashing a look at Stakar, but then leans down until he's nearly eye level with the kid. "Y'know it means stars in Centuarian?" 

Trust his galactic encyclopedia of a first mate to know that. Yondu gives a little nod, flushing.

"Good name,” Marty says, frank and appreciative. Yondu looks at him cautiously, obviously not entirely comfortable, but he's stopped frowning. Stakar doesn’t bother to hide his satisfied smirk. Yep, Marty and Yondu are gonna get along just fine. 

He's pulled out of it when Marty says, “Here let me–“ and reaches for Yondu’s dish. Yondu starts, eyes wide and lip curled into a snarl, his nearly empty bowl cradled reflexively in the crook of his elbow.

“Whoa–" Marty holds his hands up slowly. "Jus' thought you'd like s'more. You hungry still?"

Yondu looks at Stakar, almost like he’s looking for permission, before nodding carefully and pushing the bowl forward. The silence starts to drag awkward so Stakar starts casually, “So, you wanna come with, Martinex, give Yondu a look-around?"

Marty raises an eyebrow, probably thinking of the to-do list from yesterday that’s now spilling into today. Stakar shakes his head, silently brushing off his concern as he says,”Today's low speed. Nothing else…I’m making time for this."

Marty glances at Yondu, and Stakar can almost see the arguments shrinking in Marty's mind. Ha! Already Marty's coming under the influence of Yondu's shy, guarded eyes. He pretends to be all reasonable, but Stakar knew he wouldn't really stand up to a tiny hurt little kid and have anything to say against taking him under wing. 

"Sound good to you, kid? You alright with me coming along?" Marty says gently. 

"Y'ssir." Yondu's stiff, body language confused, and Marty looks at him eyes soft. 

"Jus' Marty will do." 

Y'si- Marty," Yondu grinds out, hesitating, then spitting it hurriedly. He’s shoveled the second bowl of food down by this point, Stakar notices with approval. Kid's too skinny still. But now that he's done eating, it's time for a little orientation. Stakar smiles. Today’s gonna be the best. 

 

It's late afternoon by the time Marty and Stakar have given Yondu the grand tour, and at last they're in command center at the heart of the ship. 

Yondu's been quiet, wary, all day, but he's stopped forming fists and flinching every time Martinex moves too suddenly, so Stakar counts that as a win. He's thinking he'll have to put off talking to Martinex privately until he's got Yondu in bed – doesn't want him to feel like Stakar's pushing him aside to talk over his head, doesn't want him to feel helpless or like he’s a problem. 

Stakar settles gratefully into his captain's chair, sinking into it and doing a quick scanfor any urgent matters that might not be able to wait until tomorrow. Martinex is still murmuring to Yondu behind him, showing off the different equipment and stations. 

"So what's this I hear about a uniform?” Marty's voice raises a little higher, clearly directing the question to him so Stakar swivels his chair

“Gonna be just like yours, huh?” Stakar could swear there's teasing in Marty's voice. 

Stakar clears his throat abashedly. "Yes, well. Kid needs something to wear."

Marty grins. 

"And," Stakar adds, looking contentedly at Yondu, ”He's a Ravager now. Should look like one.”

Thinking on that, it reminds him…“Oh, and he needs somewhere to sleep, I put him in the corner of my room last night but I need something better than that, what’d'ya think, Yondu?“

“You’ll have to get a new one,” Yondu says disinterestedly, still looking wide-eyed around the bridge. 

Stakar and Marty exchange quizzical glances. 

“A new… room?” Stakar asks. 

Yondu shakes his head. “A new cage.”

Stakar feels his body going stiff as steel, and Marty recoils from behind them. 

"I'm, not. Flark, kid, I'm not gonna put you in a cage!" 

“But…” Yondu’s brows are beetling together in confusion, and he starts fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. “I'm not in the hospital place anymore, I'm better.”

"Yondu," Stakar's struggling, but he pushes on. "Slaves get put in cages. You are not a slave, you're _certainly_ not my slave, I don’t even have anything to do with people who do that, because it's wrong. Okay? It’s wrong that they did that to you. You’re a crew member now. Every crew member gets their own bunk, a bed to sleep in." 

He rocks back and looks Yondu in the eyes. 

"No one, ever, gets to put you in a cage again."

Yondu studies his face, serious. 

“That’s why I’m gonna get my own uniform, cause I’m crew?"

Stakar nods firmly. ”That’s right. Because you're one of us."

Whatever he’s about to say next is interrupted by a loud alert heralding an incoming vessel. 

Marty's brow furrows as he taps the screen to change the identification beacon, then a disbelieving grin comes over his face. 

"Is that… Captain Aleta’s ship? What in hell is she doing here?"

Stakar looks at his first mate, down at a confused Yondu, and starts to quietly regret the moment he sent out that picture. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aleta is all out, as she walks into the hanger bay, flanked by two crewmen, and marching, actually marching toward Stakar with her holopad clutched casually in her hand.   
> Once she gets closer, she throws it up to his face with the picture he sent her glimmering on the screen.   
> One eyebrow is lifted infinitesimally, and the rest of her face is all sharp and still as she leans closer.   
> "What's this?" She says abruptly. 

Aleta is all out, as she walks into the hanger bay, flanked by two crewmen, and marching, actually _marching_ toward Stakar with her holopad clutched casually in her hand. Once she gets closer - she throws it up to his face with the picture he sent her glimmering on the screen. One eyebrow is lifted infinitesimally, and the rest of her face is all sharp and still as she leans closer. 

"What's this?" She says abruptly. 

Her tone is just the right  mix of flat and demanding, and soft and dark to let Stakar know that he better have a pretty good answer within the next few seconds or someone's getting dragged to their private Captain's Quarters to get a lecture on _practical jokes_. 

"Ah," he says, searching desperately out of the corner of his eyes for his Second Mate. 

Then he sighs, straightens. He did bring this on himself, and besides, how many times is an opportunity like this going to present itself? It's _Aleta_ , after all. 

"Like my gift?" The corners of his mouth are curling upward of their own accord. 

Her hand holding the holopad falls downward as she taps it off with a click. Her eyes narrow. "Right, I'mma frame it and put it on the wall. Now tell me what the _hell_ is - "

"Now, now, _Captain_ ," Stakar widens his eyes in innocent rebuke. "Must you use that kind of language? There's children around."

She chokes. He forgets, but she really does move quite fast, doesn't she?

"That goes for violence, too, you know-" He says quickly, fending off her attack. "Innocent eyes and all that."

She stops, rather suddenly, and shoves her face close enough to his to make him suddenly feel a little bit dizzy. How long has it been? Flark, he's missed this. 

"Stakar," She warns, her breath on his cheek. It's just getting good, but of course Marty has to step in at this point. 

"Captain Ogord," He says, addressing Aleta evenly. "Meet Yondu," 

And he pushes the boy, whose wide eyes look like he's trying to decide whether to run or jump in and attack something, forward. Aleta steps back, a soft, unsure look coming over her face. 

"Yondu," she repeats. 

"Our newest Ravager," Stakar says, lifting his head. Aleta whips around to look at him again. Forget glaring daggers, she's got the whole armory in her gaze, with some extra throwing knives besides. 

"You adopted him as _crew?_ He's a child!" 

Stakar's lips set stubbornly. He's already _had_ this conversation with Martinex, and this isn't the place or time to have it again. Not in front of the kid. 

"And what is he _wearing?"_

"I'm going have him some leathers made!" Stakar protests. 

"And in the meantime, just let him walk around in an oversized _night shift,_ I'm sure he won't get sick at all-" 

"Aleta," He starts, just a little annoyed because she's _clearly_ missing what a flarking good job he's been doing of taking care of the kid. 

"This isn't someone you can just have ride-along on dangerous jobs with you, or take on space-shuttle _joyrides_." Aleta jabs her finger pointedly at the blank holopad screen. " _Flark_ , Stakar, have you - have you even _thought_ about this?" 

"Oh, I've thought about it," He says, voice low. He's barely thought of anything _else_ the past few days. She must see something in his face, because she relents with a little sigh.

"You're sure he's not better off on Xander -"

Yondu lunges forward, and his hands dart out and grips Aleta's arm as he gasps, eyes narrowed and desperate. 

"No! I can't - I won't -don't send me back _there_ ," Still clinging aggressively to Aleta's sleeve, his eyes trail guiltily toward Stakar, and he mutters. "I - I promise I won't stab no more people - I mean, unless you tell me to -"

Oh, kid. Aleta's eyes have gone startled and disbelieving in the background, but Yondu is Stakar's first priority. 

"Hey, nobody's sending you back," Stakar says sternly, striding over to rest a gentle hand on Yondu's head. "Ravager, remember?" 

Aleta looks like she's biting a thousand _creatively phrased_ questions back, jaw steeled hard and dark eyes unfathomable as she watches the two of them. Yondu nods. 

"And that doesn't change, no matter what trouble happens, right kid?"

"N-no?" The boy says dubiously, glancing up at him as if waiting for confirmation. 

"Nope. It doesn't. Tell you what, we'll go have Marty take you to grab some chow, and then-"

"-And then when you come back," Aleta interrupts, and when did she move so much closer again? "I'll show you what a _real_ ship looks like on the inside."

She gestures proudly toward her own vessel, and Yondu's eyes go wide. 

"I get to see in that one, too?" He chances, and Stakar notices Yondu's looking at him, not Aleta. Until Aleta kneels down in front of him, and she looks at him steadily until his eyes pull hesitantly up to hers. 

"Yondu, I'm going to give you the whole grand tour." 

"I - I like your ship," Yondu's still looking at her. 

"'Course you do!" Aleta gives a pleased smile as she rises to her feet. "She's a beauty. And the faster you get back with Martinex, the faster you'll see her. In fact - I may even have a special little something to show you on board..."

She could be referring to a myriad of different things, but the look that comes into her eyes makes Stakar's lips flatten in suspicion. Yondu gazes at her, as if weighing her words, and finally he nods. "Okay."  

Martinex takes his shoulder and leads him back out of the command center. There's a long silence after the doors airlock behind Martinex and Yondu. Stakar doesn't look at Aleta, and Aleta's still staring after the doors. 

"So," She says, finally, her tone dry. "Who got stabbed?" 

Stakar crosses his arms, trying to fend off the flash of guilt he feels, because if he hadn't been so tired that night, he would have predicted that incident in the med bay. That never would have happened.

"Medic," he grunts.

She nods sharply. "He live?"

"Yeah. Kid ripped him open with his own scalpel," Stakar snorts a little. "But…medic's fine. All healed up now."

There's another silence, and then Aleta says softly, in a way that's not really a question, "You took him from the Kree, didn't you?" 

He feels startled, for a long moment, before he remembers this, how she just seems to _knows_ things, that intuitive keeness, her quick, sharp wits. 

"He's a battle slave."

"Not any more." Stakar's words are quick and fierce, and she jerks her head over to study him. "I'm keeping him, Aleta -"

"He's not a pet, Stakar!" She snaps. 

"What do you want me to do?" He demands quietly, dropping his hands. He sighs, weary. "I found him on a battlefield, Aleta. I tried - I really tried, this one Children's Home on Xander -" He shakes his head. "No. He's better off with us. Shocking as it is," He gives a bleak laugh. 

Her fingers touch his arm softly, and his breath stills. 

"It's not so shocking." She says, and he remembers her eyes on him as he calmed Yondu down. The vulnerability hanging in the air is so thick and fragile it feels like it might break if he breathes too hard, stifling and precarious, until Aleta laughs, all teeth again. 

"I always knew you were one big softie, Captain Stakar."

"You're one to talk," He grumbles under his breath, but he's grinning. "I'm not the one who _actually_ has a pet on board -"

"Lyra is not a pet!" Aleta straightens indignantly. "She's a mascot, and I'll have you know every _decent_ starship has one!" 

 

When Yondu comes back, it's Aleta who takes his hand, and he jolts, but then seems to still when he realizes it's a touch that, even though it's not Stakar, isn't hurting him. She walks him up the gangplank and into the ship, talking and gesturing animatedly, and they're in there for a long time before Yondu comes trotting back out, eyes blown wide and excited, and with less careful wariness than Stakar's seen his face free of since that day on the shuttle back from Xander. 

Aleta comes out behind him, looking steelclad and steady, and Stakar aches for a moment as all this time without her catches up, and _oh_ , he's missed this. Her.

But then he realizes that there's some very smug look on her face, much too smug for his liking - and then he notices they aren't the only two that came off the ship. 

"I said every decent starship has a mascot." Aleta sidles over to him, looking for all the world as if he should have expected this. Her lips smirk. "No need to thank me. Lyra had her litter, and this one has been following him around, seemed to take a shine."

The tiny, fluffy thing on legs that is scampering at Yondu's heels is _-_ it's fur is _bright red._ It looks at Yondu, and Yondu _squeals_ , reaching down to touch it's fur, then jerking his hand back. 

Aleta grins. "I told him you'd let him keep it." 

"Not it," Yondu protests. "He."

Stakar's mouth twitches. 

Yondu's big, hopeful crimson eyes turn to his, and then the kitten turns little unblinking blue eyes on him, and _flark_ , he can't stand up against _the whole three of them._ Stakar exhales loudly. 

"You heard the woman."

And that - _that_ was worth it, the grin that breaks out on Yondu's face, all like his greatest wish has come true, and a little incredulous, like he didn't expect Stakar to relent. 

"It's gonna be your job to take of it," Stakar tells Yondu seriously. "It'll be a real important job."

Yondu calms and says, "Yes, sir," so solemnly, and Stakar's lips twist upward. Then Yondu picks it up and cradles the little thing in his arms, fingers soothing over it's fur like wonder. Aleta's looking at Stakar with a tranquil satisfaction, though Stakar can't quite tell if it's directed toward him or herself. 

Yep, they're gonna be fine, all of them. They're together, and they're gonna be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love! <3


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